Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Canto Carnage

Momma is relaxing in her favorite sledge of granite.Practicing for the grave is what the papers say.Memento Mori for the service she wrought.That, and the shade of expectations, everything elsewe put in the doomed arcade. I affirmedwithout help or fear of the present

which describes the line of a mitered presentprefab sarcophagus which is the unspoken granitefor an extremely sensitive tooth I affirmedby wincing, the upper part fixed to what I sayinternally, harsh vertical sense of or-elsedrying over the bowl which heaving hath wrought,

like a cage that permits us internment, a writhingmusic so loud that gnashing is all I can presentto the regulators. The magneto shudders nothing elseas one, the skin slithers over new graniteand two, one eye smothers the other to saythe tempo chews on hinges turning affirmation

until the displaced fragment of memories firmto globes of meat made fingers wringinghands and spinning random lip locator to saythey are cut from fascism or other recent presentslike circumcisions on happiness. Map me a granitechronicle, I believe in the roundness of someone else’s

limit, seem of limit standing. You, who else,with your wallet out waiting to pay the affirmedto negate me. Your currant agrees with the granitetide, with scrambled evolutions, something wroughtcoming out of the shadows to spin in the present.Notice these alfalfa fields and letters that say

the scientists in the back seat of their cars swaywith sweaty rubberized DNA, there is nothing elsethese letters of relatives can unearth from the present,from the barn near the causeway of doom, can affirmthat each section of the year, strumming, wreaksa coffin from the earth’s pores, her skin in granite.

These letters of the skin say peel me or elsetop off the horn wrought twisting and be affirmedin the granite presentation she trembles with.